When The Music Fades
by TheTeaIsAddictive
Summary: A high-stakes performance leads to Belle and Adam first meeting. But will the thrills of competition stop them getting together? Or - the Eurovision AU


**When The Music Fades**

 **Chapter One**

The final notes of the song faded away reluctantly in the large arena. The group of people watching the technical rehearsal applauded wildly, one or two even standing up. Belle Lecteur was lowered to the ground from the flying harness attached to her waist, brushing stray bits of confetti away from her face, bright pink from the exertion required to complete the routine.

"Brilliant!" cried Resa, one of the backup dancers and a close friend of Belle's.

"Yeah, excellent work, Belle," Harry Gaston smirked. Belle flushed slightly, although it would be difficult to tell if you weren't looking closely, given how red her face was already. "We're gonna need a really matte foundation tomorrow, if you're not going to look like a tomato at the end of the number."

"Yeah," Belle said shortly. "I'll talk to the makeup artist about it. How did it look apart from that?"

"Good," Gaston said after a slight pause.

"Good?"

"The smoke was half a bar late. And you need to control your facial movements more; everybody could tell when a light was shining in your face. I'll give you a full list of feedback tonight."

"You're the boss," she sighed. "What time is dress rehearsal?"

"Six p.m. tomorrow," Gaston said. "Don't be late, or it won't matter that Britain goes through by default." He tugged lightly on the end of Belle's ponytail, and she resisted the urge to slap him.

"You're the creative director, not the adjudicator," she snapped.

"And if I wasn't either, you'd be going on a date with me tonight," he said, running his eyes lightly up and down Belle's shorts and vest top, now clinging to her body with sweat. "But as it is, if anything to do with the performers isn't just the way management likes it, it's my neck it ends up falling on. So don't. Be. Late." He pinched her cheek just hard enough to earn a gasp from Belle, and moved away, talking into his earpiece rapidly.

"I hate him I hate him I _hate_ him," Belle whispered venomously to Resa, as they made way for the next performer. "He's so slimy, and smarmy, and - and-" Belle paused, pure rage displayed on her face.

"Breaking about five hundred workplace protocols by propositioning you like that," Resa supplied helpfully.

"Yes!" Belle said. "Ugh, but the thing is, when he's not being disgusting and creepy he's a _really_ good director. All the feedback itself was entirely professional. It's just the _way_ he delivers it." She wiped some of the sweat away from her brow, and gulped down some water.

"I don't know why he's so uptight about it," Resa said. "It's not like Britain ever wins anyway."

"Hey!" Belle cried, only half joking as she shoved Resa across the stage.

"Am I wrong?" Resa asked, letting her long blonde hair fall out her ponytail and swish around her face.

"No, but this is definitely the craziest thing we've done since 2007." Belle shuddered. "Never forget Scooch."

"Come on, Belle," Resa said, half-dragging her off the stage, "the next performer's about to begin, we need to get off."

"Let's watch," Belle suggested, and the two women sauntered into the row of seats. "Do you know anything about this guy?" Belle asked as a tall man in sweatpants, baseball cap and a black t-shirt walked towards the back of the stage.

"He's the France representative," Resa said. "I think his name's Adam."

"Doesn't sound very French," Belle said, watching the young man fiddle with his microphone absently as a small fat man with a clipboard yelled for quiet in the audience.

"He's not," Resa said. "Well, I mean, he's lived there for years, but I think he grew up in the States or the UK since his first language is English."

"How do you know this much about him?" Belle asked. "Have you been stalking him?

"No!" Resa cried defensively. "Just . . . doing a little research on the competition."

"Sure," Belle smirked.

"Quiet, please!" the man with the clipboard yelled again. Belle and Babette settled down, and the lights soon flared up as the French performer began his rehearsal.

Belle had to admit, this guy was good. His voice was sweet and deep, sort of mellow, but as Graham Norton so quickly reminded Britain in 2015, Eurovision is not a singing competition. He seemed full of a sort of kinetic energy, always doing something on the stage; surprising, given he was singing a ballad. His feet never seemed to stand still, one foot always tapping away at the beat, and he switched the hand holding his microphone every few lines. It should have been distracting, but every move he made seemed calculated to bring your attention to a particular song lyric. Belle found herself looking at his face after about a minute, wondering if he was as expressive there as he was with the rest of his body.

To her surprise, his face seemed closed off, a shut book. His mouth smiled around the words, but no emotion he'd sung about had ever reached his eyes. Belle kept staring at him, trying to see if anything could reach his face. It astounded her how a serious entry for Eurovision had gotten so far without emoting once. As the bridge started to play, and the man walked towards a mike stand rising up from beneath the stage, Belle shifted forwards in her seat.

Suddenly the lights flashed brightly as the music changed key, and she was hit in the face by a baseball cap that seemed to appear from nowhere. Wincing slightly from the pain, Belle yanked it down from her face, only to see bright blue eyes and a long mane of red hair glance over in her direction, before continuing his performance.

"As far as dramatic costume changes go, that one's pretty significant," she whispered to Resa, who giggled. Adam had stopped hopping around, and the smoke swirling around his lower legs meant his perpetually tapping foot was out of sight. He let the last note rip out, impressively strong, and confetti erupted from small cannons above him.

Belle clapped along with the rest of the audience, enthusiastic despite the annoyance of getting hit in the face with a baseball cap. After all, his performance had been excellent. The short man waving the clipboard trotted up to him, but Adam waved him aside and jogged over to the very edge of the stage, thumping down right in front of where Belle was seated.

"Sorry about my hat," he said, face flushed with exertion. "I wasn't really looking where I was chucking it, I didn't mean to hit you in the face."

"That's alright," Belle said, handing it back to him. "Just watch where you're throwing it on the actual night, okay?" She laughed, and Adam grinned at her.

"I think it's meant to be a top hat on the night," he smiled. "There's a magic theme running throughout."

"Yeah, well, when you have lines like, 'Your eyes are so deep/I could pull rabbits out them/Your hair is as silk as a top hat, baby', I think you'd need a bit of a visual aid."

"You speak French?" His eyebrows raised.

"A little," Belle shrugged. "Songs are harder to translate than speech, but the tempo of yours is pretty slow, so I picked up a few lines here and there."

"If you're _quite_ finished, Mr Darensbourg, we need to run over your feedback!" The short director shouted from across the room, startling both Belle and Adam.

"I'd better go," he said, and almost before she could blink Adam was up on his feet.

"Do you want to meet up again some time? I'm busy tomorrow at six, but basically free the rest of the day," Belle said, trying to ignore the bees nest of nervousness in her stomach. She hadn't asked many guys out before. she just hoped he'd say yes.

"Sure," Adam said, smiling wide. "Oh, wait, I just realised - I don't know your name."

"Belle Lecteur," she said. "I'm representing Britain."

"So I guess we're competition?"

"Looks like it," Belle said, raising one eyebrow. Adam smiled rakishly, and Belle noticed that when he smiled deep enough, dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. It was _insanely_ cute.

"I look forward to seeing you again," Adam said, walking away backwards, the smile still plastered on his face.

"You too!" Belle called out. She settled back into her seat, smiling slightly.

"Ahem!"

Belle jumped, her hair spinning round so fast it hit her in the face, only to see a smirking, smug Resa.

"Don't you dare," Belle said.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Resa said. "Not with you and Mr Lovebird over there hitting it off so well."

"I hate you," Belle muttered.

"Why? I've just got a feeling _Love Is On the Radio."_

"Resa," Belle said.

"Hey, maybe both of you could win Eurovision this year thanks to _The Power of Love_."

"This isn't a good time for -"

"Or maybe you just need to say to him that _You Belong With Me_."

"I'm leaving now!" Belle said, standing up in her chair.

"Come on, it's Eurovision, it's hardly going to be a _Bad Romance_."

"Resa, seriously."

"This could be a _Love Story_!"

"Or the story of how you and I got _Bad Blood_ ," Belle retaliated.

"Come on, _Don't Stop Believin'_ in our friendship." Resa pulled a face so earnest, but melodramatic, that Belle immediately started to giggle, against her better judgement.

"I do still need a _Dancing Queen_."

The two girls stood up, and started walking back to the small rehearsal area.

"But seriously, Belle, with Gaston around you're gonna have to _Fight for This Love_."

"Resa."

"Otherwise I might end up with _Teardrops on My Guitar_."

" _Resa_."

"You could say that _Everything Has Changed_ between you and Adam now."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"So is there a _Blank Space_ in your journal to write about this guy in tonight?"

"RESA!"

"This could be _The Start of Something New_ for you!"

"I'm not listening!"

"We're _Breaking Free_!"

"I'm leaving now!"

 **A/N: Also known as the Eurovision AU nobody wanted or asked for.**

 **Everybody has the same surnames as Behind A Fair Façade (except Gaston), but they are not the same characters.**

 **Reviews make me happy :)**

 **TheTeaIsAddictive**


End file.
